


arch & point

by lonelyheartsclub



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, yeah basically harry fucks louis' thighs waddup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyheartsclub/pseuds/lonelyheartsclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the first time Harry's lost himself during sex, Louis letting him use him like a rag doll. Except he's not the type of rag doll you throw away. Far from it, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	arch & point

**Author's Note:**

> hello, friends! i was having trouble thinking of what to call this, so i ended up using a miguel song title.
> 
> this is dedicated to ju, who is incredibly amazing and just so happens to be one of my best friends. she inspired it, so big thanks to her.
> 
> and yeah, i think that's about it. ♡

Harry and Louis are adventurous, you could say, when it comes to the bedroom. They've tried everything from simple to full-blown BDSM, and this could almost be considered trivial compared to being handcuffed to the bed, but still.

Harry’s nervous, and all that’s been on his mind since he bought the damn thing is what Louis will think of him. Yeah, he knows Louis will never judge him (for this, at least. He receives a fair few comments whenever he puts banana in his cereal), yet he still feels an apprehensive churning in his gut.

Harry’s hands are clammy as he clutches the nondescript bag in one of them and fumbles with the keys to the door with the other.

The first thing Harry hears upon stepping over the threshold is the soft spray of the shower running, and relief is an understatement. He doesn't think he’d be able to handle the embarrassment of having to explain his plans for them to Louis straight off the bat. He needs time to collect his thoughts before potentially destroying their sex life. Which he _won’t_ , because he’s probably overreacting. Probably.

At this point, Harry's willing to just forget the whole thing and join Louis in the shower, but he’s been turning this idea over in his head for a while, and he can’t back down now. Especially after the outrageous amount of money he’s spent on such a trivial thing. Thinking of that, he should probably burn the receipt and bury the ashes. Anyway.

Harry stops in the middle of the hallway, sifting through all the possible ways this could go down in his head. He figures the safest option is to leave the bag on their bed, allowing Louis to discover it on his own (and possibly escape through the window). So he does exactly that.

Luckily, just as Harry's ducking out of the bedroom, the water stutters to a halt. And even if he does feel a little bit like a creep, it’s not like it isn't his house as well.

~*~

It’s been a few minutes now, and Harry’s sprawled out on the sofa watching a show that might not even be in English, trying to seem casual as he fiddles with the hem of his beloved Burberry shirt.

A few minutes soon turns into five, and then ten, and Harry may as well be digging his own grave right now, because _why did he do this this was the dumbest idea ever_.

At least, Harry does think that, until after what feels like an eternity the sound of a door creaking open fills the room and he turns his head to see—Christ on a stick. Well, he doesn't actually _see_ Christ on a stick. Or any variation of him, really. Alas, what he does see could very well be the next best thing.

It's Louis—Louis in lacy pink lingerie, colour deliciously vibrant against tanned skin. He looks better than Harry could have ever imagined. The sparse spattering of hair is visible under the opaque stockings wound around his firm legs, and Harry doesn't know why he finds that as hot as he does.

Louis is sex personified.

Although, the boy in question doesn't seem to think that, seeing as he’s doing the habit he has where when he’s unsure about something he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and chews on it to make it red like he’s wearing lipstick, and that makes this even fucking _worse_. Worse in the best kind of way the word can mean, of course.

Louis does a hesitant little twirl, tiny feet lifting off the ground, and his bum looks even more delectable than usual encased in the flimsy fabric. Harry kind of wants to wreck him. A lot. Nevertheless, he tries to keep himself composed, downplaying the current adrenaline running through him and sadistically relishing the way Louis is flushing under his unyielding gaze.

“Haz,” Louis says, and Harry knows he probably means to sound tough like he usually does, but instead his voice comes out meek and almost _pleading_ , “do—do I look okay? Is this…”

It takes everything Harry has to hold back a most likely embarrassing sound as he looks Louis blatantly up and down one last time before rising to his feet, all previous uneasiness down the drain.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and _oops_ , there goes his self-control. “You look so fucking hot, Lou. Dunno why we haven't done this before.”

Harry barely has time to process what he’s doing before he’s surging forwards and pressing a caught-off-guard Louis into the closest corner, arm slipping around his curvy waist and open mouth moving against his neck, teeth sinking into the side and eliciting a quiet gasp and a whine from the receiver.

Harry can vaguely feel Louis' hands sliding up under his shirt and ghosting along his biceps. Which he doesn't have a problem with, of course, and captures Louis' bitten lips in a hot kiss, pleasantries forgone as tongues slide wetly and hardening cocks rub against each other tortuously through material.

"Clothes," Louis says simply, tone a shade of demanding as his hands wander southwards down Harry's torso until they're palming at his crotch.

Harry bites back a moan at the blessed contact and pulls Louis in that impossible bit closer before whispering hotly into his ear, "Soon, I promise, baby."

And if this thing they have going on is taking a turn for the pornographic, Harry doesn't think he really minds all that much.

In fact, videotaping them getting each other off seems like a more than appealing idea. Another time, perhaps. (Harry's too horny to even consider taking his hands off Louis' body to set up a camera. Call him selfish).

Harry shoves a leg experimentally between Louis', which leaches the _sexiest_ sound, and it's at times like these when he realises just how lucky he is.

They go like that for a while, grinding together and panting into each other's mouths with Louis pinned against the wall helplessly. Then Louis pulls back and parts his lips as if he's about to speak, and Harry already knows what he's going to say.

They're connected in that way—where they know the ins and outs of each other, macabre and all. Even back on The X Factor Harry knew Louis had something special. His 16-year-old self had been a whirlwind of confusion and testosterone, but one thing he did know for sure was that he wanted to burrow the pretty tanned boy somewhere in the confines of his heart and never let him out.

Harry distantly remembers telling Louis a variation of that one morning over toast and scrambled eggs. He also remembers how Louis had laughed so hard he choked on his tea, half-chewed pieces of bread flying across the table as a result. ( _You're the cheesiest person I've ever met_ , _Harold_. _How do you do it_?)

Harry knows how Louis likes to be fucked a majority of the time—fast and hard, with no particular interest in where they do it, all that matters being that there’s a cock inside him. Which is great—really great. But Harry also knows that other times Louis needs to be spread out on a bed and taken care of until he’s ravished enough to last a lifetime. Knows because of all those nights they spent experimenting in the X Factor bunks.

And as much as Harry would love to milk the orgasm out of Louis right there against the wall, he feels like now is one of those times, so instead opts for hauling him up by the backs of his thighs and carrying him to the bedroom, Louis' arms wrapping around the back of his neck like it's a lifeline.

Harry dumps Louis onto the bed with as much care as he can muster when his cock is telling him differently, to just _take_ him already, pressed painfully hard and leaking against his abdomen, skintight jeans feeling more uncomfortable than ever.

Harry looks down at the sprawled body in front of him, then realises that he’s almost forgotten Louis’ current attire in his frenzy to get the boy onto a flat surface.

The panties Harry had so carefully chosen out cling to Louis' body almost like a second skin, and Harry's having a decidedly hard time not jumping his bones. Especially when the fact that he got Louis to wear this without a single complaint or protest fully sinks in.

Louis just looks so much more _breakable_ than usual in them...delicate like a porcelain doll.

Harry's heart rate picks up a notch, and then he’s climbing onto the bed with no coherent thought other than how he’s so completely _gone_ for this boy. Has been since that time where they met coincidentally in the bathroom. Has been since he first looked into his eyes and found nothing but childish enthusiasm and a warmth that could rival the sun.

Once Harry's propped up on his arms and hovering over the elder of the two, he licks his lips once, and his voice is gruff when he speaks, “Tell me what you want.”

Louis looks up at Harry as if he’s his own personal orbit, and Harry doesn't think he’s ever seen anything hotter in his life.

“Can I—your mouth. Just—”

That’s all Harry needs before he’s humming and pinching the elastic of the dainty undergarment between his thumb and forefinger, letting it go with a _snap_ , causing Louis to break off mid-sentence in a gasp.

Louis’ erection can’t even fit in, the glistening head peeking out over the top of the waistband, and Harry could get used to this. Could get used to how downright _dirty_ this feels.

Harry mouths at it, kitten-licking a bead of precome sitting neglected at the tip and makes a show of groaning loudly.

And yep, it seems to have the desired effect down, seeing as how Louis’ bucking his hips up to the point where Harry has to dig his fingernails into his sides to control him.

“Shh, calm down. Let me take care of you. Gonna suck you so good.”

Louis spreads his legs wantonly and lets out a sigh as his head turns to the side and into the pillow. Harry takes this as an unspoken invitation and grins wickedly, dimples showing in all of their mischievous glory.

Harry pulls the panties down to rest just below Louis' knees, Louis lifting his hips up to assist him in the process.

Harry wastes no time in getting his lips around Louis after that, tonguing all around the girth in the way he knows drives him up the wall.

Louis’ a considerably impressive size. I mean, he’s no Harry, but he’s definitely bigger than average.

Harry isn't usually one for bottoming, but when he’s too tired to top and the moment arises, Louis gladly does the duty for him.

Or, sometimes, on those rare occasions, Harry will ride him lazily with that trademark cocky grin on his face that the tabloids think is reserved for the endless stream of girl friends (big emphasis on the space) that he’s linked to. And as much as he'd like to tell them something along the lines of _no actually it’s for my bandmate I bury my dick into on the weekly_ he knows he can’t.

It’s not long before Harry's nestled in the small mound of hair at the base of Louis’ cock, throat working to keep him all down. (Minus any difficulties, of course, considering how this is basically second nature to him).

"Feels so good," Louis keens, clearly trying to refrain from fucking into Harry's mouth from the way his hands are clenching tight balls in the bed sheets.

This is what Harry lives for. This—the amount of _control_ he has over one person.

Even when Louis is in the position to take it for himself, he doesn't, because Harry knows that deep down he loves being dominated. Craves it, even.

Harry begins to bob his head, instinctually picking up pace when Louis’ whimpers get louder, and every time Louis' cock hits the back of his throat he reaches down to palm himself, because he's always loved doing this for Louis. Loves the heady taste and the weight of it on his tongue. He doesn't quite mind the praise either.

"Fuck my mouth," Harry rumbles, voice rough around the cock his lips are currently stretched around.

This is Louis' release, apparently, seeing as how he bucks his hips up almost immediately after the words are spoken and his hands curl in Harry’s hair, tugging hard.

Harry grunts around him at the action, sending vibrations up Louis' length before his cheeks hollow out obscenely and he continues to lick as much as he can while Louis thrusts into his mouth, breathing shallowly through his nose. And if there’s a little satisfactory twinkle in his eye at the way Louis responds to the sight, nobody has to know.

Harry's kissing and suckling at the head with watery eyes when Louis yanks his head back and looks down at him with blown pupils, a fierce look of determination reflected in them.

“Fuck me, Harry.”

Harry raises his eyebrows incredulously and presses the pad of his thumb dryly against Louis’ hole, still red and slightly puffy from the night prior (when Harry had eaten him out and proceeded to fuck the living daylights out of him until he was screaming and the neighbours were most likely calling in noise complaints to the police. Yeah).

“Lou...you're too sore. Look at you—you’re a mess.”

“But—I don’t care. Still want it," Louis replies petulantly, giving a pout before tugging Harry down into a heated kiss. “Can tell you want it too. You're hard, Haz, c'mon. You can't fool me."

Harry sighs and weighs his options, knowing Louis wants it now but will complain about his “sore bum” all throughout the next day (and no doubt the one after that), when suddenly he gets an idea, light bulb and all.

Wordlessly, Harry retrieves a sachet of lube from his back pocket (he likes to be prepared. You could say they're quite the exhibitionists).

Louis visibly brightens at this, somewhat like a child being told that they can go to the candy shop.

The smugness doesn't disappear when Harry makes work at taking off his pants.

Harry supposes he should inform Louis of his plans, but he's been a little shit, so he probably deserves it anyway.

Harry may or may not purposely take longer than necessary to rid himself of his clothes, biting back a smirk and toying with his belt loop, to the point where Louis agitatedly sits up and helps him, sliding off his shirt and biting his chin playfully, lying back down once he’s fully unclothed.

“All right, get to business, then. I've been waiting long enough,” Louis says, sounding comically laid back (which Harry can’t help but chuckle at, because his boyfriend really is a royal idiot).

“How about you turn over and I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Louis opens his mouth as if he’s about to question something, but then obviously decides against it, simply complying and hitching his bum up high, wiggling it teasingly in Harry’s face.

First of all, Harry would like to thank his mum for encouraging him to pursue his singing dream. He possibly would've never met this drop dead beautiful abomination of nature if that weren't the case. Or his dweeb bandmates (who he loves to the moon and back).

When Harry starts slicking his hands up with lube, Louis is obviously listening, judging by the way his breathing noticeably picks up. And when he bypasses burying his fingers into Louis' arse in order to slather up his left thigh, Louis lets out a pitifully confused sound.

“What are you doing? Thought you were gonna fuck me, you liar,” Louis grumbles, albeit responding to the contact of skilled hands on his body anyway.

Harry doesn't answer, instead letting Louis figure it out for himself as he moves onto the other thigh and continues his ministrations until they’re both shiny with the substance.

“Keep your thighs close together, okay?” Harry commands, watching Louis hesitate once more before doing as he’s told.

Harry lathers up his cock next before lining it in between Louis’ glorious thighs, and he doesn't think he regrets this in the slightest. Nor should he have reason to, because _fuck_.

“Wh-” Louis starts, but before his inquiry can be answered, Harry’s pushing into his tight heat with a sharp inhale of breath.

“ _Oh_ ,” Louis says, realisation clearly dawning along with arousal as he gets the memo and grinds back earnestly against the touch, stretching out his forearms in front of him to steady himself. “Got a thing for thighs, huh, Styles? Any other kinks I should know about?”

“No. Just—just yours,” Harry replies with a groan as his cock disappears into the slick mess between Louis’ legs and he rests a hand on his bum idly, digging his fingers into the soft skin and drawing an unexpected reaction from the boy below him.

“ _Dammit_ , Harry.” There’s a short pause before Louis turns back to look at Harry with clenched thighs and hooded eyes and parted lips, and _wow_. “Hit me.”

“What? No, I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna _hit_ you.”

I mean, yeah, Harry would be lying if he said his cock didn't twitch at the thought of getting rough with Louis, let alone Louis letting him and _enjoying_ it, yet the sensible part of his brain is screaming at him that it's a bad idea, and he doesn't know what to do, honestly. And it's not like hurting Louis is an option.

“I don’t care what you want— _fuck_.”

Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise, because he definitely wasn't expecting Louis to enjoy this as much as he does. Not that he’s complaining. Because, well, he’s _not_.

Harry's thoughts are going a mile a minute, but lust is easily outrunning rationality, and Louis _wants_ this, and so does he, and when he loses control and slaps his hand down onto one of Louis’ cheeks the broken moan pretty much does it for him.

Harry's got a pretty boy in his bed that’s completely his, and he'll be damned if he isn't going to take advantage of that.

Louis groans loudly as Harry's hand collides with the same cheek for a second time. It’s steadily reddening now, and Harry feels a fluttering in his stomach. He doesn't know if it's the bad kind or the good kind, but he guesses the latter.

“Are you gonna be quiet, or do I have to gag you?” Harry says, surprising even himself.

That apparently seems to be the right thing to say, however, seeing as how Louis ceases all sounds except for his wrecked panting as Harry lands a blow to the untouched cheek, all while his unrelenting hips are smacking against Louis' arse.

It's too much and not enough at the same time, and Harry doesn't know how long he's gonna last in the sex-humid air with a desperate, panty-clad Louis beneath him. He suspects the same for him, though, seeing as how he's basically a writhing mass of limbs at this point, head hanging low and thighs tightening sporadically.

"Your thighs... _Jesus_ , Lou. Wanna bite them and lick them and suck them. Your bum too. Everything about you is hot." Harry is starting to pick up pace now, the only sounds in the room being heavy breathing, lewd slapping of skin on skin, and the occasional moan. "You're my good girl, aren't you? My whipped little bitch. Bet you'd do anything for me, huh? Bet you'd ride me in front of a hundred people if I told you to."

The only thing Harry's ears are registering anymore is the sound of his name spilling out of Louis' lips like a mantra, and it's safe to say that his new goal in life is to hear that every second of every day.

This isn't the first time Harry's lost himself during sex, Louis letting him use him like a ragdoll. Except he's not the type of ragdoll you throw away. Far from it, actually.

Harry thinks he may be crossing the line when he grips Louis' sweat-slicked hair and pulls him backwards to capture his lips in a dirty, more-tongue-than-lips kiss, but he can't seem to find it in himself to care. Not when his boy has a flushed arse and back and _everything_ , really.

"Come for me," Harry instructs, not waiting for an answer before he's reaching around their bodies and grasping Louis' cock in his hand, nail catching on the foreskin and hand pumping rhythmically.

Harry always makes sure Louis comes first. Always puts him before himself—even if it means sneaking off to the bathroom after a round when Louis' too worn-out to continue. Just knowing he's the cause of Louis' orgasm is enough.

It seems like no time before Louis' coming with a sharp cry all over the sheets and Harry's hand, then proceeding to fall limp onto the mattress.

Even just _seeing_ that is enough to bring Harry over the edge as he slips his cock out from in between Louis' legs and gives it a quick stroke before releasing on his arse, watching his come dribble down his crack. And is that a _handprint_ he left?

Harry joins Louis, collapsing next to him, and the thought of cleaning up their mess doesn't even cross his mind. Or maybe it does, but Louis' warm body curling up against his back and his small hands reaching out to clasp onto his own bigger ones comes first. Will always come first.

There'll never be a day when Louis isn't the most important thing in Harry's world. And if there is, to hell with that.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: twinkshire  
> twitter: tomlinmousey


End file.
